Henry and Alice had been walking a while before Henry finally stopped and nudged Alice’s arm to draw her attention. He pointed toward the mouth of a narrow side street, where a small gray cat sat and stared unblinkingly at them. When Alice took a step toward it, it turned and trotted in the other direction. Wordlessly, they followed, and before too long, thunder rumbled in the distance and the smell of fresh rain on pavement drifted toward them through strangely empty streets.

Even after the cat disappeared, Henry followed the thunder and petrichor. “We’re going the right way.”

They continued to follow the clues, Henry pointing them out to Alice as he spotted them, and then, between one step and the next, it began to rain. Alice squeaked in surprise, scrambling to cover her hair as she looked behind her. Instead of fellow sídhe and sunny streets, they now saw only the backs of dark umbrellas and pouring rain.

“Ah,” Henry said pleasantly, heedless of the rain. He brought out the small paper he got from the constable and, making some effort to shield it, read the address scrawled hastily in bold ink. “We’re almost there.”

After a few more turns down rainy streets, Henry and Alice stopped outside of a modest home. They’d given up on staying dry several blocks back and were both soaked by the time they took shelter under the front door’s narrow overhang, Henry laughing and Alice as miserable as a puppy after a bath. Henry knocked, and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the landing while they waited for an answer.

The door swung open after several moments, a stern older woman standing on the threshold. She frowned down at them both, at their sopping states, her disapproval evident.

“I’m very sorry to intrude, but is Mrs. Helena Hathaway at home?” Henry asked.

The woman’s expression, if possible, soured further at this. “What is your business here? How did you get this address? If you’re reporters, you’d better—”

“It’s alright, mama,” a soft voice said, a gentle hand settling itself on the woman’s shoulder. Another face appeared in the doorway, this one streaked with tears and marred by grief. Despite that, it was a strikingly beautiful face, the young woman it belonged to dressed in a fine black lace mourning gown. She eyed Alice. “You’re that girl…what are you doing here?”

“I—,” Alice began, only to falter. Helena’s tone was curious, not angry, but Alice took half a step behind Henry anyway, even though it put her back under the torrent of rain.

“My name is Detective Sheridan Bell; I’m a colleague of Inspector Zhou Yichen,” Henry said, turning Mrs. Hathaway’s attention back to him. “Ms. Evans is here under my supervision. Would you mind if I came in and asked you a few questions?”

Mrs. Hathaway’s mother opened her mouth to speak, but Helena beat her to it. “I already gave the police my statement.”

Henry smiled. “I’m a specialist.”

Helena returned Henry’s smile automatically, caught in it, and stepped aside. “Alright, then. Please, come out of the rain.”

The inside was as modest as the out: comfortable, but not ostentatious. Once Henry and Alice were out of their soaked coats and had been patted dry by servants with fluffy towels, Helena led them to a warm sitting room where a plainly-dressed woman sat cradling a baby. Upon their entrance, the woman stood to excuse herself, but Henry held a hand out. “Stay, please. You’re the family nurse, correct? I may have some questions for you both.”

“This man works with Inspector Zhou,” Helena told the nurse. “He said he’s a specialist. Mama, can you take Ioanna for a little while?”

The nurse handed the baby, who hardly put up any fuss, to Helena’s mother, and soon, she and Helena were settled on the couch across from Henry while Alice lingered awkwardly in the doorway.

“How old is Ioanna?” Henry asked conversationally.

“Almost three months,” Helena said.

“She seems like a very quiet baby.”

This startled a laugh out of Helena, the sound bright and loud, and Henry briefly glimpsed the woman behind the grief. “Only sometimes. You should have heard her all last night,” she said. She seemed to realize what she’d said only after, and memories of the previous night settled over her like a heavy cloak, making her once more quiet, subdued. Her mother, Mrs. Raptis, glared at Henry. “Mama, can you ask the servants to prepare some tea?”

Mrs. Raptis shot Henry one last wary look before taking Ioanna away with her. Once they were alone, Henry said, “I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Hathaway. I can’t even begin to imagine all you’ve been through today, and I’m sorry that I must ask more of you now.”

Helena managed a wobbly smile. “You’re the first one to offer condolences that I believe actually meant them. For that, you can ask me anything and I’ll do my best to answer.”

Henry inclined his head in thanks. “To start, is there anything the police can do to help you feel safer?”

At the unexpected question, Helena blinked, then tipped her head to one side, considering. “Inspector Zhou said no harm would come to us so long as we stayed away from the house. Do you think we have reason not to feel safe here, Detective Bell?”

“I think you can never be too careful,” Henry said slowly, planning his words before speaking them. “I don’t mean to cause you undue concern, but there’s much we don’t know. Would you do me the favor of talking me through everything that happened? I’m sorry to make you relive this, but I’m afraid it’s necessary.”

Helena glanced at Alice. “Well, on Friday morning, I saw Ms. Evans’ advertisement in the paper—”

Henry raised a hand to interrupt. “Apologies — you can skip over Ms. Evans’ involvement, for now. What happened on Friday night, after Ms. Evans left?”

“Oh,” Helena said. “Arthur arrived home at his usual time. We had a small fight, so I retired early — around ten o’clock, I think? — and fell asleep alone. When I woke again, it was dark, and Arthur’s side of the bed was still empty. At first, I thought it was he who’d woken me, making some noise in the room, but when I lit a match, I saw no one. Before it could burn down, I noticed that time — 12:50 — and that Ioanna was crying. She’s usually a good sleeper and Emily is always in the room with her, so I was alert even before I heard the — the gunshots.”

“How many?” Henry asked.

Helena took a steadying breath. “Three, one right after the other. They were followed by this — this horrible scream, and I had thrown on Arthur’s dressing gown and was racing to the nursery before I even knew what I was doing. It wasn’t a far run — we’d situated the nursery close to our bedroom on Arthur’s insistence. Emily and one of our permanent security guards were coming up from the other direction when I reached the room, and inside, I saw…I saw…”

When she stopped, Emily rested a comforting hand on her arm. “Do you mind if I take over the telling from here, Detective Bell? I can tell it as well as my mistress can.”